


A Learning Experience

by TwoBrokenMirrors



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alistair marries Anora (mentioned), Anal Sex, M/M, Multi, Not so much taking Alistair's virginity as stealing it and running away cackling, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-23
Updated: 2018-05-23
Packaged: 2019-05-13 02:47:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14740601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwoBrokenMirrors/pseuds/TwoBrokenMirrors
Summary: Alistair, due to get married to Anora, has some concerns about his skills, or lack of them. Luckily, a couple of his friends have a good idea how to fix that right up.





	A Learning Experience

It was difficult, Alistair thought, to know what to make of the way matrimony was being so abruptly thrust upon him.

Matrimony to the woman previously hitched to his half-brother, to boot, who was by all accounts a  _ fearsome _ sort of a lady. He’d  _ talked _ to Anora, of course, and she’d even smiled at one of his jokes which he  _ hoped _ was a good sign, but there was quite the gap between  _ making a girl smile _ and  _ marrying her _ . There were  _ responsibilities _ that came with marriage.

And he was still young enough that one particular one was occupying his thoughts more than the others.

Anora and Cailan had never had children, but they must have  _ tried _ , producing an heir being one of the aforementioned responsibilities. And therefore it was an inescapable fact that Anora knew a lot more about sex than Alistair himself did.

What if, he thought as he stared into the fire and tried to marshal his emotions, she  _ laughed _ at him?

That was not a pleasant thought, and it presumably showed on his face, because there was a flurry of movement beside him as a slim figure dropped to sit down and a familiar voice asked,

“Something wrong?”

Alistair blinked and raised his head, already pouting.

“This is your fault, you know? Nobody would have thought about me being king or getting married if it weren’t for you.”

Kirvin Surana, only other surviving Fereldan Grey Warden and, Alistair  _ hoped  _ anyway, one of his best friends, grinned. It was the grin he tended to wear when he was completely unrepentant about something, which happened a lot.

“Arl Eamon would have thought of it eventually,” he said. “And you don’t have to worry. Anora likes you.”

“Oh really?  _ Really? _ Even when I open my mouth and she gets the look like, ‘there goes Alistair, someone shut him up before Orlais invades again just to get rid of his ugly mug’?”

Kirvin laughed. It was a nice laugh, and it gave Alistair pleased warm feelings when he was the cause of it, even if it was at his own expense.

“I’m sure she’ll get used to you,” Kirvin assured him. “And your face isn’t  _ that _ bad. I don’t think Orlais would bother with a  _ full _ invasion over it.”

“Just an incursion or two?”

“A couple of skirmishes at best, really.”

“I think that might be a compliment,” Alistair laughed, nudging his shoulder against the elf’s. “Unless it’s an insult!”

Kirvin looked up at him, green-blue eyes wide and trying- rather unsuccessfully- to look innocent and not like he was about to start giggling.

“I’d never insult you, Alistair! You’d have my head cut off when you’re King.”

“Oh come on. We were having a good time insulting my face, and now you’re dragging the whole royalty thing back into it. I might have your head cut off just for that, you know.”

“Can it wait until after we kill the Archdemon, at least?”

“Oh, I’ll consider it I suppose. I might need some backup, after all.” Alistair laughed, then breathed out a heavy sigh and rubbed his hands across his face.

“...Kirvin, can I tell you something…?”

“I can keep a secret,” Kirvin said brightly.

“Ah yes, you kept the royal bastard thing perfectly schtum, didn’t you?”

“I only mentioned it to people who already knew,” Kirvin pointed out, pushing out his lower lip in an expression of upset that Alistair  _ knew _ was perfectly calculated but was a sucker for anyway. It was something about the way the ears drooped at the same time, and anyway he  _ did _ have a point.

“Fine, fine. It’s kind of more about the- the other thing I told you, anyway.”

Kirvin’s ears perked up again, which was probably a bad sign.

“The thing about you being a virgin?”

“Don’t say that so loud! Sten might hear- or Wynne- or  _ Maker forbid _ , it could be  _ Oghren _ .”

The laugh that escaped Kirvin at that was undignified and perhaps a little  _ too _ delighted. Alistair poked him in the shoulder.

“This is serious!”

“I’m sorry,” Kirvin said, biting his lip to prevent further amusement escaping. “Carry on?”

Alistair gave him a reproachful look, then shook his head. He’d fallen in with  _ terrible _ company, clearly, but he’d have to make the best of it.

“You know I’m-  _ inexperienced _ . But  _ Anora _ isn’t. And if we’re married, we’re going to have to try and- make babies.”

“Make babies,” Kirvin repeated, eyebrows climbing his forehead.

“Yes! You know how that happens, or at least I  _ hope _ you do. Or I might have to have a word with Wynne. _ ” _

“The Circle wasn’t  _ that _ bad about education.”

“Well, good! Then you can see my problem.”

Kirvin nodded, slow and thoughtful. 

“I think I can. You think she’ll laugh at you because you don’t know what to do.”

“You read my mind. How do you  _ do _ that?”

“Trade secret. What do you want to do about it, anyway?”

Alistair lifted his hands in despairing frustration, attempting to capture the extent of his hopelessness in a single shrug. Kirvin’s eyebrows seemed to be threatening to leave his face entirely, and his clumsy face tattoos were twisting strangely as he tried his best not to giggle again.

“I might have an idea,” he said. “If you let me go and talk to Zevran for a minute.”

“Oh no. No no no. Zevran is up there with the dwarf on the list of people I  _ don’t _ want knowing about this.”

“He already knows,” Kirvin said. At Alistair’s immediate glare, he hastily added, “I didn’t tell him. I promise. But come on, you think he wouldn’t know? It’s  _ Zev _ .”

Alistair whined, dropping his head into his hands. “Great!”

“He hasn’t  _ said _ anything, has he? Just let me talk to him.”

Slowly raising his head, Alistair gave Kirvin a long, long look, and assessed exactly how much he trusted this elf.

“I don’t know what you’re planning, but I think I’ve given up. Talk to the assassin about my personal life if you must.”

Kirvin smiled at him brilliantly, batted him affectionately on the arm and jumped to his feet. Alistair watched as he trotted across the camp to where the Antivan elf was polishing his blades, and wrinkled his nose as the pair of them put their heads together. While he’d been  _ aware _ that something had been going on between them for a while- although not apparently as aware as literally everyone else, even Oghren had noticed within five minutes of joining the party- whatever that something was had definitely changed since Kirvin had taken to wearing an earring that had previously been gracing Zevran’s earlobe. The way they smiled at each other, mutually wicked and intimately understanding, made something in Alistair’s chest twist with a sudden burst of… jealousy? Was he jealous? That was ridiculous. What was there to be jealous of?

He must have distracted himself wondering about it, because all of a sudden two warm bodies plopped themselves down on either side of him and leaned in, long pointed ears tickling both of his cheeks.

“Our Kirvin informs me you may be having some, hm, troubles,” Zevran purred, as Kirvin himself leaned his head against Alistair’s shoulder and hummed quietly. Alistair grumbled.

“You could say that.”

“Ah, well, it happens that I am an expert in these particular troubles, no? And Kirvin has a most wonderful idea.”

Kirvin giggled. Alistair turned his head as much as possible to squint questioningly at him, then squeaked in surprise when the elf bobbed up and planted a light little kiss directly on his lips.

“Kirvin, what-”

“I told you it was a wonderful idea,” Zevran chuckled from behind him. “You require experience, and we are entirely equipped to give it. Admittedly Kirvin is not such a master as I, but he has been learning  _ most _ quickly what I have to teach.”

Even Alistair couldn’t miss the suggestion there. For a moment he could only gape, entirely taken aback.

“I- but you’re- Anora’s a  _ lady? _ And you two are- aren’t.”

“My friend, many skills are  _ quite _ transferable, I assure you.”

“If you don’t want to you don’t have to,” Kirvin said, although he didn’t move away from where he was pressed up against Alistair’s side. “I just thought you might… enjoy it.”

“Enjoy…”

It was difficult to think,  _ especially _ with the pair of them in such close proximity. Alistair had never entertained the idea of sleeping with another man, let alone two of them at once, not even  _ mentioning _ the fact that one of them was the de facto leader of their group and the other an Antivan assassin. All the logic of his admittedly sheltered upbringing told him this was  _ absurd _ , and possibly even insulting, and he was on the verge of saying as much when he remembered Arman, Jaya and Yousef.

Even within the Grey Wardens, where casual touch was as much a part of the culture as killing Darkspawn, they had been notably handsy with each other. Duncan had explained why to him, once, having caught him staring, and he’d been… shocked, at first, and then… curious. They had seemed happy; he’d never seen them argue. And then the point had become moot, via Ostagar, and he’d forgotten about them in his grief for the Wardens as a unit.

“Alistair?”

Kirvin’s voice broke into his thoughts. The other Warden sounded worried, now, and Alistair realised with a start that he was no longer sandwiched between two slim bodies; abruptly, he missed it.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-” Kirvin began, and Alistair cut him off, shaking his head.

“No no, look, I- listen. I was a bit, um,  _ surprised _ , and- Maker’s breath I’m bad at this. What I’m  _ trying _ to say is- um- why not?”

Kirvin blinked and tipped his head, a smile creeping its way back onto his face.

“You mean you want to try?”

Alistair would have answered but his heart seemed to have clambered up and lodged itself firmly in his throat, sadly preventing any words escaping. He nodded instead, then yelped as Kirvin flung himself at him, wrapping his arms around his neck and kissing him in a way Alistair had never been kissed before. Teasing pecks from older girls in the Chantry playing with a youngster getting to grips with puberty and, later, barmaids who liked blonds did not, it turned out, prepare one for being kissed with genuine heat and desire, and it came decidedly close to blanking out his mind entirely.

“Kiss him back, I would advise,” came Zevran’s amused voice in his ear, and another set of arms slid around his chest from behind, gentle fingers exploring the lines of his torso through his shirt. Alistair whimpered, which was not the sound he’d  _ intended _ to make but apparently the only one he  _ could _ , and tried his best to follow his instincts and return Kirvin’s kiss. He was acutely aware that doing so decidedly disrupted the rhythm of the thing, and almost pulled away, but Kirvin made a protesting noise and climbed into his lap to chase him- which, besides being just a little gratifying, brought a certain fact sharply to his attention.

He was very,  _ very _ hard.

He whimpered again, breathless, but before he could actually do anything with this realisation an unfortunately familiar voice cut through the fog in his brain.

“While I am pleased to see the three of you enjoying yourselves, perhaps you could oblige an old woman and enjoy yourselves under canvas instead?”

Alistair breathed in hard as Kirvin broke the kiss and scrambled off his lap, and was very glad that he could rely on the other to chirp “Of course, Wynne, we’re sorry!” even if Kirvin  _ did _ sound like he was suppressing giggles again. Zevran unwound himself from Alistair and nudged him until he stumbled to his feet, then ducked under his arm to provide some sadly needed support as they headed for the nearest tent. Wynne’s parting words followed them with resigned affection.

“Don’t break our future king, boys,  _ please _ .”

“I’m not king  _ yet _ ,” Alistair mumbled, as Zevran and Kirvin tugged him down onto the bedroll and wrapped themselves around him again. This time it was Zev who claimed his mouth, his kisses notably different from Kirvin’s, less outright enthusiasm and more sultry teasing but surprisingly patient with Alistair’s clumsy attempts to mimic him. Kirvin was nuzzling at his neck, one hand already sneaking its way up Alistair’s shirt and making him twitch and shudder at the contact.

“Too many clothes,” Kirvin mumbled, which made Zev chuckle into Alistair’s mouth- a rather strange sensation. He made a muffled noise as the assassin broke the kiss.

“As always, my beloved, I am forced to agree. Especially in the case of our dear Alistair, who seems under the impression that he is still about to don full armour at any moment and requires padding. If you would not mind terribly much sitting up, Alistair- thank you- now hold still…”

The last time Alistair had been stripped with such efficiency he’d been six years old and his nursemaid had captured him for a bath. This time around he was much less inclined to try and escape, even once he found himself spread out and stark naked with two elven men gazing at his body with frank admiration.

...Okay, that part was gratifying enough to overcome some of his automatic embarrassment. He spread his hands in a gesture of display, clearing his throat long enough to croak,

“Like what you see?”

“ _ Yes _ ,” Kirvin answered, with a fervency that was intensely flattering. Zevran hummed agreement, then nudged the other elf.

“Must I remind you once again that your clothes are also unneeded, my love?”

Kirvin squeaked and grabbed at his robe, pulling it off in an undignified flurry of fabric and arms. Zevran laughed and reached over to tickle at newly exposed skin, making Kirvin- still half-trapped in his robe- wriggle and yelp; Alistair stared, bemused. Catching his eye, Zevran grinned.

“An important lesson, my friend; you must remember you are allowed to laugh, yes?”

Kirvin emerged from his clothing, flushed and giggling, and grabbed at Zev’s tunic to wrestle it over his head; Zev squawked in surprise, and Alistair snorted despite himself. Even if it hadn’t been the point, it would have been difficult to keep a straight face at the pair of them playfighting like puppies as they stripped each other.

And then it ended with Zevran straddling Kirvin’s hips, kissing him fiercely, and Alistair nearly bit through his lip at the noise of pure, whimpering need Kirvin made.

Zev answered it with a satisfied purr and broke the kiss, sitting back on his heels and running a thumb slowly across his lips as he regarded Alistair.

“Now, it  _ is _ true that neither of us have exactly the, ah, anatomy you will be meeting with Anora. But there is a perfectly good way to do something that is quite similar enough. And Kirvin  _ does _ so enjoy it.”

Underneath him Kirvin wriggled and half sat up, smoothing back the wispy strands escaping from his braids; Alistair opened his mouth to, one, tell him it was probably pointless, and two, ask what on Thedas Zevran was talking about, when he was interrupted by a question that made him choke on the words.

“Do you want to fuck me?” 

“W-wha-”

Kirvin gave up on his hair, ears twitching as stray locks tickled them, and grinned, almost shy. “Well?”

“...Fuck you? Like-” Alistair made a vague, awkward gesture towards his backside, the only place he could think of that might be relevant, and felt blood rush to both his face and his cock when Kirvin nodded. “H-how- I mean, I never really considered that you could use-” Before he could stop himself he added, “Will it fit?”

The sight of Kirvin slapping both hands over his mouth to muffle laughter made him droop a little, but rather to his surprise Zevran, instead of laughing, made an ah-hah noise and raised a finger before diving into a pack next to the bedroll. He emerged, smirking, with a small bottle.

“Many have asked that same question, my dear Alistair, and to them I say, you have not met my friend olive oil. He is  _ most _ helpful for making things fit. Often for women, also- do not listen to anyone who tells you otherwise.”

He flourished the bottle, then uncorked it and slowly drizzled some over his fingers, humming slightly. Alistair touched his cheeks, wondering how they could possibly be getting even hotter at something so simple, then squeaked as Kirvin settled into his lap, a slight weight not even pressed against his cock but making it pulse nonetheless.

And then he sprawled, opening his legs and lifting his hips and leaning back into Alistair’s chest, and Alistair had to close his eyes and swallow hard against a wave of arousal.

“I will demonstrate for you on our Kirvin here, hmm? Pay attention now,” Zevran declared, running a loving hand along Kirvin’s slender thigh and tapping Alistair’s shin. “Watch closely.”

Alistair forced his eyes back open and looked down, only to bite back another hopeless sound at the sight of Zev slipping an oiled finger up inside somewhere he’d only ever considered things coming _ out _ . Kirvin trilled and squirmed, and Zev tapped Alistair’s leg again with his free hand.

“Keep him still, my friend,” he instructed, and Alistair automatically brought his arms up to wrap them around Kirvin’s torso, holding him close and watching with fixed, fascinated eyes as a second finger was introduced, then a third. Kirvin writhed against his skin, warm and damp with sweat already; Zev made a thoughtful noise.

“Are you ready, my love, or perhaps one more? You have seen that Alistair sadly outweighs me in this particular department; it is the one area in which I might admit humans have a slight advantage.”

The strangled little noise Kirvin made was hungry. He shifted, dragged in a breath, murmured ‘one more’, let out a muffled little keen when Zevran obeyed. Alistair pressed his face into Kirvin’s head, the roughness of his braids a welcome distraction, and was grateful when neither of the other two tried to make him look again. It would be a poor lesson if it was over before it even really began.

It wasn’t long, however, before Kirvin butted his head up gently and reached to pat Alistair’s cheek, voice soft and breathless.

“It’s better if- you put on the oil as well-”

It took a moment for him to grasp what was meant, but then he nodded; it made sense.  Zevran tossed him the bottle, and he had a moment of pride when he caught it without fumbling; the thick liquid was lukewarm from handling, but compared to the superheated skin on his erection it felt cold enough that he jumped. He didn’t have long to dwell on it, though, as Kirvin turned himself round and shoved him backwards onto the pallet, kneeling up over his hips and smiling down at him.

“Are you ready?”

Alistair didn’t even bother to try forming spoken words; he simply nodded, then sucked in a sharp breath as Kirvin wrapped a hand around his cock and carefully guided it so the head pressed up inside him.

It took every part of Alistair’s Chantry-taught self control not to just thrust immediately into the warmth and softness like his instincts screamed to; he screwed his eyes shut and clamped down on the animal part of him, determined not to hurt this man who was trusting him so greatly. When he managed to lift his eyelids again, he found his gaze drawn straight to Kirvin’s face, watching the way his brows drew together and his teeth trapped his bottom lip, the intensity of the expression making it oddly similar to ones Alistair had seen him wear when studying some strange text or object they’d unearthed. He felt a sudden rush of affection for this strange little elf mage, the only other one who really understood exactly what they were facing, and he reached out to catch Kirvin’s hands and squeeze just as Kirvin seated himself fully on Alistair’s hips.

“Everyone is comfortable, yes?” came Zevran’s soft voice, his slim arms sliding around Kirvin’s chest from the back as he pressed his cheek against his lover’s; Kirvin hummed, turning to kiss him, and Alistair managed to raise a hand and award the pair of them a rather shaky thumbs-up.

“Very good,” Zevran said, rewarding the gesture with an amused little smirk. “It looks like our Alistair has some idea of what he should be doing now, but let us make sure, shall we?”

 

Kirvin laughed, breathless and happy, and slowly lifted himself up; Alistair’s hips followed him automatically, drawing more laughter, which Alistair couldn’t help joining in with. His amusement was cut off by a heavy groan as Kirvin sank back down, tight around him.

“A-andraste’s  _ tits-” _

“Yes, you should pay attention to the breasts,” Zevran confirmed gravely, though his grin over Kirvin’s shoulder was anything but. “Many people enjoy some attention to their nipples, no?”

As he spoke his hands slipped over Kirvin’s, tweaking playfully, drawing a shaky little intake of breath from the mage; Alistair was startled to realise he could feel muscles twitching around him. Somehow he’d never considered that being  _ inside _ someone would be… well, this intimate, which sounded silly now he thought about it. Was this why the Chantry frowned on people who were free and easy with it? Maybe it was different for other people-

“Alistair!”

That was Kirvin. He sounded like he was trying not to laugh again. “You’ve gone m-miles away, come back.”

“Ah, sorry love,” Alistair said, startled, then cursed himself for letting a word like  _ that _ slip out. Neither Kirvin nor Zevran commented, however, and he found it very hard to concentrate on being worried about it when Kirvin began to set up a rhythm, slow at first to let him adjust to matching it. It was easier than he expected to keep his hips rolling in time, despite the way his thighs began to tremble from arousal; he was beginning to feel quite dizzily pleased with himself when he saw, through his half-closed eyes, Zev’s hands slide down to wrap around Kirvin’s bobbing cock and start to stroke.

Kirvin  _ groaned _ , a noise that made something in Alistair’s groin go disconcertingly hot and melty, and tightened around Alistair’s erection, which didn’t help. He made a rather embarrassing noise as Kirvin began to move faster, breath coming in quick little pants; Alistair’s own breathing rasped in his chest as he tried his best to keep up, keep going, and not just  _ go _ , just when it was getting good-

Oh dear. He was definitely too close for comfort.

“Ah- uh- um-” he managed, breathless, not entirely sure what he was even trying to say; Zevran caught his eye over Kirvin’s shoulder and winked at him, his hand on the other elf’s cock picking up speed and making Kirvin shudder and arch back in pleasure. Alistair choked, whined, nearly crushed Kirvin’s hands in his as he pushed his hips up as far as they could go, burying himself in heat as he teetered on the edge of overstimulation and then, inevitably, toppled headfirst into the middle of it.

He’d had orgasms before, of course. He’d discovered the exciting world of masturbation quite young, and taken to it with the sort of enthusiasm generally expected from youthful males. But somehow comparing his previous experiences with what he felt now was like comparing… two things that were completely incomparable and furthermore should never even be in the same room as each other. For a few giddy moments he was entirely unaware of anything outside of the surge of aching sensation through his body, and just as he began to return to reality the elf on top of him let out an almost painful-sounding moan and doubled over, his seed spurting in thick white ropes across Zev’s hand and both his and Alistair’s stomachs. The added stimulation almost sent Alistair back into whiteout, although this time it  _ hurt _ . He spluttered, panting hoarsely, and shook his head, trying to force his brain back on track; Kirvin’s warm, slight weight slumping against him brought his arms up to cradle him on instinct, stroking a light hand over the sweatdamp bronze skin.

“I am glad you enjoyed yourself,” said Zevran, soft and unexpectedly close to Alistair’s ear. Alistair squeaked and jerked slightly sideways, and the assassin laughed, the tone almost as surprising as the proximity; Alistair had never heard him sound so relaxed and… affectionate. 

“I am sorry, my friend. You are tired, yes? There is nothing wrong with sleeping once you are finished, provided your partner is also content to end things.” A slender hand brushed a strand of hair away from his forehead, and Alistair wondered when exactly he’d become perfectly happy to let Zevran get that close.

“Zev,” Kirvin murmured, sudden and bemused. “You haven’t- Let me deal with that.”

“I am capable of taking care of it myself-”   
“You shouldn't have to. Come on.”

Alistair huffed as Kirvin rolled away from him, and was rewarded with another gentle hair stroke. “I won’t be long. Then we can all cuddle.”

“I might be asleep by then,” Alistair confessed, trying his best to muffle a yawn. Kirvin giggled softly.

“You’re forgiven. It was your first time. You did well.”

“Ha. Take that, Morrigan,” Alistair mumbled, the warm feeling of success mingling with the residual sex to almost forcibly close his eyelids. It was a little strange to be falling asleep to the sounds of Zevran quietly moaning as he was ‘taken care of’, but it didn’t feel wrong, and perhaps that in itself meant something was going on that shouldn’t be but he couldn’t really bring himself to care. Not any more. “I knew I wouldn’t mess everything up.”


End file.
